“This is before their show that night. We were just leaving the apartment that we were staying at, Bruce and I. This is just a snapshot; I had a point and shoot camera. I didn’t take very many of these kind of pictures for whatever reason, and I should have taken more. I just dug this one up recently. I love the $1.09 gas. It really puts [the photo] in time.” - Photographer Charles Peterson

On 12 September, 1995, Hilton Lewis Crawford from Conroe, Texas, called Carl and Paulette Everett, two friends of his, to confirm that they were attending an Amway meeting that evening. When the Everett’s arrived, Crawford was nowhere to be seen. Instead, knowing that their house was vacant, he drove over and knocked on the door. Their son, 12-year-old Samuel McKay Everett, opened the door, pleased to see a man he referred to as “Uncle Hilty.” However, the man the young boy trusted produced a foreign object and smacked Samuel over the head before throwing him in the trunk of his car. Carl and Paulette soon receive a phone call demanding $500,000 for the safe return of their beloved son. Crawford drove the young boy to Louisiana before shooting him twice in the head with a .45-caliber pistol and dumping him in a swamp. Luckily, a neighbour had seen Crawford pull up to the Everett home the night of the abduction. Blood stains were discovered in th trunk of the car and on the body of the car. An investigation revealed that Crawford had devised the kidnapping scheme in an attempt to cover his massive gambling debts. He was executed in February 2003. Ironically, he mentioned how his sons were his “greatest gifts from god” - something he hadn’t acknowledged when killing the son of his friend.

Most music critics are reading other music critics to find out what they should like. I think when anybody sits down to review a record these days, they look at all the other reviews that are online, particularly Pitchfork, and they look at 8 different reviews and go “oh, ok, alright now I’ll do my review”. I’m sure that’s what happens. Absolutely certain. And nobody’s thinking for themselves. Somebody must be. Somewhere.